


Let It Snow...

by CowMow



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Tree, Cute, M/M, Sherlock Gift Exchange 2014, Snow, exchangelock, festive fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowMow/pseuds/CowMow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg just wanted to have Christmas with his husband. But Mycroft has to work, and Greg prepares for a long, lonely Christmas. But everyone needs a little luck and some snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Snow...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



For corpsereviver2. 

Let it snow…

It was bloody freezing. Not that that was so very surprising in the middle of the winter, it being nearly Christmas on top of that, but still, Greg really thought it wasn’t necessary to have snow on top of everything else. He was standing just outside the Yard, smoking a cigarette, killing time as he waited for Mycroft Holmes to appear and take him to dinner.  
They had been married for a few months now, and Greg thought his life had turned out pretty brilliant. He got kisses and sex and good food at ridiculously expensive restaurants with menus he couldn’t even read, had more ties than he would ever wear, and on top of that he had a very attentive husband who could read him like a book.  
Now and then they even made out in the back of Mycroft’s car, but it always stopped the moment Greg’s hand wandered down to the front of Mycroft’s nice trousers. Mycroft would smile a little and grasp Greg’s hand, tugging it away gently. “Not here,” he would always say. He had been saying that for over three weeks now, and Greg, who prided himself on being an open-minded man who didn’t need sex per say, was getting frustrated. But now that would change. Mycroft had taken a weekend off from work to celebrate Christmas, just the two of them together in their own home. And while Greg knew it was very much impossible for Mycroft to take the weekend off for Christmas, it was a nice gesture, wasn’t it? They would probably set up a Christmas tree, maybe even decorate it. Or just turn on the lights as Mycroft had probably bought the tree including fairy lights and decorations. And they would actually have dinner together, maybe cooked together, and hopefully do something more than fall in bed exhausted.  
When he saw the fancy black car turn into the parking lot, Greg grinned and crushed his cigarette, humming when it sizzled to a cold death in the snow. He eagerly stepped forward as he stuck up a hand in greeting. The car came to a halt in front of him, and he beamed, opening the door, fully expecting to see his dead-gorgeous husband smile back at him. His face fell when he saw only Anthea’s apologetic face. “Mr Holmes wasn’t able to come,” she said, giving him a smile that told Greg more than enough. With a disappointed sigh, Greg slipped into the backseat as well and closed the door. “It’s fine, Anthea. It was too good to be true, anyway. Just take me home.”  
Anthea hummed softly, looked over Greg’s face but the man had already turned away. “He’s very sorry he’s delayed,” she told the back of Greg’s head while the car got moving again. “I’m sure he will have it all solved in a few hours and be home in time for Christmas.”  
Greg shrugged, feeling pathetic, but hey, he had a very good reason to sulk and be grumpy as his husband wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. He knew how it would go, as it had happened many times before: Mycroft would be caught up in work, and Greg would have a miserable microwave dinner, alone in the bloody big house, and he would fall asleep in a cold, lonely bed and wake up alone as well because the world needed saving again by Mr Mycroft Holmes.  
He had known all this when he married the man, and he hadn’t felt any regrets about that decision whatsoever, but sometimes he just… well, he just needed his husband. So yeah, he felt a bit shitty now, but he would survive, and he just knew Mycroft would make it up to him soon.  
Anthea felt bad as well, knowing herself how it felt to have to be away from one’s family all the time. She knew better than to tell Greg Mycroft would be home soon again, as they both knew it really wouldn’t happen.  
When the car stopped in front of the posh house in Belgravia, Greg mumbled a Christmas greeting to Anthea and the driver, got out and fished the keys from his pocket. He trudged over to the front door and opened it, getting inside. The house was welcoming and warm, smelling of cinnamon and pine needles. Greg smiled despite everything, glad Mycroft had remembered to order a tree before all the nice ones were all sold out.  
He shrugged out of his soaked coat and hung it up along with his scarf, and toed out of his shoes, pieces of iced snow falling off onto the mat where they melted slowly. When his damp socks hit the floor, he sighed contently and wriggled his bare toes which were thawing slowly. He had certainly come to love the luxury of floor heating.  
He padded over to the kitchen and made some tea, and cradling the warm mug in his hands he entered the living room. Well, that was definitely a good tree. And bare, too. Not a light or a bit of tinsel in sight. Greg smiled sadly, knowing Mycroft had planned to be at home so they could decorate a bit together, but alas… not this year. Greg looked around their home and decided he could start decorating on his own just as well.  
The plastic boxes with tinsel and baubles were easily found in their big attic, and Greg carried all four of them down the stairs. He hummed and opened them, and with his hands in his side he peeked down into the four boxes. Hm.  
Ten minutes later, there were bad Christmas songs playing on their radio, and Greg was humming along loudly, sometimes singing along and getting all the lyrics wrong while he decorated the tree, messily. He was sipping from his wine now and then, admiring his tree, and swinging his hips as he hopped around.  
“One horse, soap and hay?” an amused voice asked from the doorway. “I do suspect that’s not the correct lyric to Jingle Bells, Gregory.”  
Greg almost dropped a glass bauble and swirled around, staring at his handsome husband standing there. Mycroft chuckled and shrugged out of his coat, small flakes of snow still stuck to the expensive wool.  
There was a beat of silence after that in which Greg realised Mycroft was home to stay, then Greg laughed happily and flung himself at his husband, hugging him tightly.  
Mycroft chuckled and said, “Surprise?”  
Greg laughed and pulled away, nodding, and pressing his lips rather firmly over Mycroft’s. “Surprise,” he agreed when he pulled away, his arms around Mycroft’s neck. “I thought you had to save the world again, no time for Christmas…”  
The red-head smiled a bit and looked over Greg’s face. “Well, I solved it. So, we are going to be together, just us.” He stepped away then and glanced at the wine, then at the tree, which was partly decorated. “That’s one… tree,” he settled on using no adjective, because how could he describe this monstrous thing?  
“Yeah, I know!” Greg said proudly, looking at their massive tree and oblivious to Mycroft’s horror. “And now we get to decorated it together.”  
Mycroft wrinkled his nose, then sighed as if very put-upon, and nodded. “Alright. I need wine.”

Outside, the snow kept falling, but inside, the two married men decorated their tree, drank wine and threw some tinsel around each other’s necks, and Mycroft even sang along to some of the songs he knew or, as Greg insisted, pretended to know. When they finally flopped down on the sofa together, tree all decorated, Greg was feeling all warm and happy, and eager to get to spend even more time with Mycroft.  
Mycroft was quick in wrapping his arms around Greg and give him soft kisses to his cheeks and mouth, his hands brushing over Greg’s warm jumper. He hummed happily and looked into warm brown eyes. Greg looked like how Mycroft felt.  
Greg grinned at his husband and pushed himself up a bit. “Hm. You look gorgeous, Mycroft,” he said softly, making the other smile.  
“Look at yourself.” Mycroft sighed and relaxed into the couch, and began brushing up Greg’s jumper. “Shall we celebrate Christmas, love?”  
Greg’s lips curled upwards in a smile and he nodded, his hands already moving towards the many small buttons on Mycroft’s dress shirt. “Yeah, let’s,” he replied, grinning widely now as he slowly bared Mycroft’s pale chest.  
The fire was crackling in the hearth, making sure neither man got cold when garment after garment was pushed, kicked or brushed off, left to land somewhere on the floor. Greg settled comfortably between Mycroft’s spread legs, moving his rough hand over the smooth pale skin from knee to thigh.  
Greg smiled and leaned down for a kiss which was granted, and he pulled away with a grin when Mycroft pushed a bottle of lube into Greg’s hand. “Take your time,” Mycroft said slowly. “I’m not going anywhere for Christmas. All yours now.”  
Greg nodded, briefly rested his forehead against Mycroft’s and then slicked up two of his fingers, carefully pushing one inside his husband’s, two pairs of gazes locked together.  
“I love you,” Greg whispered.  
“I love you, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, his hands resting on Greg’s shoulders. His eyes fell closed and his lips parted around a soft moan when he felt a delightful shiver run down his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. He pushed his hips up, closer to Greg, and smiled at his husband and lover and best friend as he was slowly opened up.  
Greg did take his time, drawing moans from Mycroft’s body the politician had almost forgotten he could make. He gasped and thrashed and pushed his hips up and down, moving together with Greg’s body as they made love together. And when they collapsed, spent but sated, Greg hummed happily and nuzzled Mycroft’s neck. “I really expected you wouldn’t come home tonight,” he said softly, quietly almost.  
Mycroft sighed and brushed a hand over Greg’s greying hair. “I almost hadn’t,” he admitted, “But the plane couldn’t take off because of the snow. I’m sorry I can’t be the husband I promised I’d be.”  
Greg huffed softly and shook his head. “You’re doing fine, My. You’re here now, aren’t you? We just need a bit of luck, sometimes. And a bit of snow.”  
Mycroft looked grateful at that and gave in, pulling Greg in for another kiss. “And a Christmas tree with enough tinsel,” he added, smiling as he looked at their home-made tree, which truly was a sight to behold. Mycroft had yet to figure out if he liked the result or not.  
Greg chuckled and sucked a hickey onto Mycroft’s fair skin, causing the redhead to moan. “And enough festive lube!” 


End file.
